


Stolen Flowers

by Thunderbird23



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-15
Updated: 2019-02-11
Packaged: 2019-09-19 11:30:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17000787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thunderbird23/pseuds/Thunderbird23
Summary: One-shots about Leta Lestrange, who really deserved better in the movie.





	1. Liquid Gold

**Author's Note:**

> In which the oldest Scamander brother reflects back on his times with Leta, and slowly begins to cope with his loss.

Theseus Scamander had never even touched a bottle of alcohol.

He had seen its effects many time on his co-workers and friends, and he swore never to try it. Instead, he usually opted for a Butterbeer or something more casual whenever he went out on the town or to a fancy party. He was absolutely disgusted by its effects, how it rendered the drinker incapacitated and idiotic. 

But there he was, sitting in a muggle pub that reeked of sweat and chemicals, downing one pint after another. 

The bartender had given him a concerned look after about the third time he had raised his fingers for another glass, but Theseus ignored him and snatched the cup to himself, sloshing some of the precious liquid onto the tabletop.

He was trying not to think about her, but it wasn’t working. Not one bit.

Theseus could still see her, clouded by blue flames, giving him a sad smile as he desperately tried to battle through the blue fire, waving his wand around violently. 

“I love you.”

He never got a chance to say it back. He just watched with horror as the only woman he’d ever truly loved vanished into nothing.

His throat was scratchy the next day, from screaming at her to get back, to save herself. He was so close, just a few feet away and he could’ve gone instead of her. 

He remembered Newt pulling him back by his waist, while he fought with everything he had to charge at the devilish, white-haired man who stared back at him with a...was it a smirk?

Down goes another pint.

Theseus remembered the day he had proposed to her, after all the commotion had died down and they were laying in bed together, wrapped in each other’s arms. 

“Thank you.”

He had turned to her, a confused smile on his face. “For what?”

“For loving me” she replied with a small smile. “For taking me as I am, with all of the burdens I carry.”

He remembered how passionately he had kissed her in that moment. He wanted to show her that she was not the monster she had painted herself to be, wasn’t even close to that. He wanted to show her how much she truly meant to him, how she was his everything and more. 

Theseus never really understood why Leta painted herself as a beast. 

Although she was a bit mischievous from time to time, she had a pure heart, one that was merely tainted by an innocent act with grand repercussions. 

It wasn't until she had told him the story of her brother, Corvus V, that he really understood where all the self-hatred was coming from. 

To be quite honest, Theseus had always known that she had a bit of darkness within her. He had a special talent of reading people, and knowing if they were wearing a facade or not. It took a few years for Leta to really trust him enough, for him to convince her that no matter what she had done, he would still love her. Once she finally told him the story of how she switched the little babies, how she had handed off the wrong child to Irma, how she had watched the wobbly boat capsize with him in it. 

And yet, Theseus still regarded her as an angel on Earth.

When Leta had first taken Grindelwald's hand, Theseus was almost crushed by the weight of betrayal. Now that he was looking back on it, he wanted to hit himself. How could he possibly have been so stupid, so mean, so horrible to think that Leta, his Leta, would ever do that. He knew Leta like he knew the back of his hand, but yet he doubted himself, doubted her, doubted his faith in her, his love of her. He still regretted it, even at nights when he would wake from the same image of her turning to dust, he would think about how he had betrayed her, not the other way around.

Sometimes he found himself wondering about if she would have actually joined Grindelwald. He hated to even think it, but sometimes he wanted that to be the alternative. Sure, it would have been a crippling stab in the back for him, and he would be beyond angry that she would do such a thing to him, but at least she would still be there. At least he could try to save her from her darkness. At least he could have a chance of holding her again. At least she would still be alive.

He recalled one memory, back when their relationship was a few years old, and he had gotten some respect as an Auror in the Ministry. 

It was during the First World War, and he was stationed, along with three other of his co-workers, at the Brusilov Offensive in Riga. They were supposed to observe, not get too close, and not interfere in any way. Theseus had seen the dangers and savagery of this war firsthand, but he always stuck by the rules.

That was, until, he saw a little girl hugging a stringy teddy, her body covered in soot and mud. She was right in way of the line of charge. 

Theseus didn't know why she stood out so much. Maybe it was the curly red hair that looked just like his, or the spray of freckles that covered her nose and cheeks, or the blue irises that stared right at him, or the light brown skin that covered her, or the short little nose on her face. Any way, he knew he needed to save her. 

So, without any forewarning, he jumped from the hill, wand in hand, and sprinted towards her at full speed. In hindsight, it was a pretty stupid idea. He didn't even bother to cloak or hide himself in any way. He should've expected the spray of bullets that came his way, but his eyes were only trained on the little girl, who was curled up on the ground in fear. Once he had managed to grab hold of her, he tucked her tiny body into his own and ran all the way back to his hiding spot. As he took great interest in the muggle sport of racing as a child, he was very good at outrunning the other stunned soldiers. With what remaining strength he had left, he had apparated back to the Ministry. He let the shaken girl down, then immediately collapsed, blood gushing out of his wounds. 

"You are such an idiot, Theseus Scamander! Did you even think about what you were doing, or was your head too far up your arse for that" Leta berated him, landing a solid punch to his chest that slightly winded him. 

Theseus had always hated when she was mad at him. 

"Darling, please you have to understand! You would have done the same thing-"

Leta huffed, her fists clenching at her sides. "No, I wouldn't have, Theseus! Because I would actually consider your feelings, and how you would feel hurt and terrified and absolutely horrible if I were to just-just throw myself in front of some bullets like a bloody rag doll! Did you ever even think about how broken I would be if you had died? If you weren't able to get back to the Ministry? If a bullet had hit you in the head and your body was left in damn Galicia?" she had screamed at him, garnering the attention of just about everyone in the ward who wasn't already enticed by the drama. 

And now the roles were reversed, and he was the one left broken. He couldn't help but be mad at her, as much as it crushed him, for being hypocritical. If she wouldn't let him sacrifice himself, why did she do the same thing? She had even said it herself, that she wouldn't. She said that she wouldn't because of the pain that would be caused. So, why? 

Theseus just told himself that he would have to wonder for the rest of his life. There was nothing he could do. The love of his life was gone. He felt like he didn't have any purpose anymore. Why should he be here when she wasn't?

He slapped a handful of muggle coins onto the bartop, not even bothering to finish the rest of his glass as he stumbled through the maze of tables and out into the cold air of London. 

He saw a purple dress. She was wearing a purple dress then. 

He spotted a chocolatier inside his shop, swirling the chocolate onto a pan. Her eyes were the same dark brown. 

He witnessed a lovesick woman smile up at her lover. Her was more dazzling than that.

He saw a child fidgeting with his watch. He had given her a watch for her 25th birthday. 

Everywhere he looked, there were remnants of her. 

How was he supposed to heal if he was reminded of her at every turn? 

But look at him now. If she saw him then, would she even recognize him? A gross bum, staggering his way across the street, his hair and clothes disheveled. Her Theseus was always a bit OCD, keeping a neat and tidy appearance, always making mature and rational decisions, taking care of himself. He always seemed very pristine and perfect. 

But her Theseus was gone. He had died with her. She had his heart, in life and in death. 

Still, he felt a bit of shame for his ways. He was reminded that he was now responsible for carrying on her name, her legacy. Who better, than the one person who knew her the best, who loved her the most? And how could he do that, how could he honor her, when it seemed as though he didn't have any honor himself?

And he promised himself, right there on the hard concrete of the sidewalk, that no matter how much he wanted to give in and wallow in his tears, he wouldn't. 

He would heal. For her.


	2. Denial

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Theseus dies instead of Leta, but she refuses to believe that he's gone.

It had been two weeks since the standoff at the Lestrange mausoleum, yet it still didn't register to Leta that he was gone. 

Perhaps it was a defense mechanism. It was strange, to say the least. When her father died, Leta felt nothing like this. She had shed a few tears for a lost filial relationship, but she had gotten over it relatively quickly. All those years of harboring her secret, plagued with the knowledge of her brother's death, and yet she had mourned him fully, in private. But Leta didn't, couldn't, understand that Theseus Scamander, hero of the Wizarding World, her fiancee, the love of her life, the man she was supposed to live out the rest of her days with, was dead. 

She never slept, not for long periods at least, in fear that if she closed her eyes, her dear lover would come and go when he saw her sleeping form. He never did like to wake her up, all those nights she waited for him to come home on the plush couch, inevitably drowning in exhaustion on top of the feathery-soft throw pillows. Each time he saw her, he would just smile softly to himself, gazing adoringly at her adorable form, and carry her to bed. He was always extra careful with her, as he always said she looked most peaceful when she was asleep, and he knew that the moments she spent without the emotional baggage and self-hate weighing on her mind were precious. When she woke up he would already be gone for his morning shift, and it felt as if he were only a ghost in the night some days. 

She also talked to him. Leta had passed by a ferocious caged lion in the lobby of the Ministry of Magic, and she had chuckled out loud, turning to tell Theseus that the large feline looked exactly like his very own Patronus. She was only met with silence and empty space next to her, earning a few odd looks from witches and wizards who deemed her demented for talking to someone who wasn't there. She ignored them, just as she ignored the welling pressure in her throat and the salty fluid trapped behind her eyelids. 

She always made two cups of tea in the afternoons. A touch of cream and a bucket of sugar for him, just as he always liked it. She always kept hers black, bitter and sour. She supposed it was a reflection of who they were inside: she was brewed into a repulsive and gross monster by her traumatic and unfair childhood; Theseus was always kind and warm and sweet, not to mention he was oh-so smooth with the ladies. Funny how he was always a mess when he was around her. It didn't show as much, after years of practice, but his heart still leaped up in his chest every time he saw her. Leta never really confided in him that he had the same effect upon her. She wishes she did. 

She wears his clothes more often now. Theseus had always playfully acted annoyed with her whenever she stole one of his silk pajama tops and wore it, the soft fabric seemingly a dress on her significantly smaller frame. His smell, of sharp cologne and fresh morning dew, was more intoxicating to her than any alcoholic drink out there, a source of relaxation after a stressful day at work. He complimented her whenever he saw her in his shirt, saying that he could "never wear it better" than she did. She always gave it back, only to steal it again not too much later, to Theseus' amusement.

She still bought a box of Drooble's Best Blowing Gum from the sweet shop across from the Ministry's visitor's entrance, knowing that Theseus always kept a box on hand. It helped him to focus, and also made a fun little trick when he could blow a bubble big enough to lift himself off into the sky. She and he sometimes had competitions to see who could make the biggest gum bubble, and it almost always ended with Leta cackling at Theseus' sticky, gum-covered head after she unexpectedly jabbed her pointed nail into the pocket of air. 

Leta felt like a glass bottle, in which air was being pumped into constantly. She felt the pressure build up in herself, was more aware of it when she had a moment of silence to herself when she couldn't throw herself into her work. She felt a stronger force pushing at her from the inside, and yet tried her hardest not to show her poker face. Leta wore a mask, the same mask she had used for years to hide the shame and fear from the arrogant bullies at Hogwarts. Leta didn't yet realize it, but when she inevitably breaks, it would be like a bomb going off inside of her mind. She would become an emotional wreck, letting every tear and pent up reaction spill out onto the floor, and she would feel like a heavy husk, a shell of a person. 

And worst of all, she would reach out to grasp the comforting arms of Theseus, only to realize that he wasn't there, and that she was alone.


	3. Strangers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Albus Dumbledore finally reaches his end, and he meets an unexpected but familiar face on his passage to the afterlife.

A flash of green. 

That was the very last thing that Albus Dumbledore saw before his eyesight quit on him, before he felt his body shift over the balcony railing, before he began to die.

He remembered the faces of those present very vividly. There was dear Harry of course, hidden underneath the staircase, watching through foggy round glasses as his mentor and father-figure invited his end with open arms. Then Severus, whose stone-cold demeanor shifted just slightly so that Albus could see the pain and remorse that he faced from killing one of his best, perhaps one of his only, friends. And finally poor Draco, who, although his family was filled to the brim with sin, couldn’t commit one single deed of ending his Headmaster’s life to save his own soul.

To be quite honest with himself, Dumbledore was absolutely terrified at the moment. Although death was no stranger to him, he never imagined that this is what the afterlife was like. He felt as though someone has shut his eyes and then extracted his conciousness out of his body, placing it in a spacious but pitch-black room. Albus was completely unaware of his body, his limbs and his chest, they were vanishing before himself. 

And suddenly Albus was standing in an all-white room, having regained his physical form.  
Well, a physical form. His arms were still covered by his silver gown, but he looked down at his hands, much younger and much less wrinkled than he remembered. Grasping his chin, his fingertips were met with the thin beard he had kept as he transitioned from Hogwarts student to full-fledged teacher. His head was no longer full of tumbling white locks, but rather a short cut from his earlier days.

Dumbledore has secretly wished that he would appear as his younger self in death; not to toot his own horn, but he was quite the looker back then. 

Once Albus counted that he had all ten fingers and ten toes, he finally got a chance to look around the place. 

“How curious...”

The blinding brightness faded as his eyes adjusted, and he was met with an oddly familiar expanse: his old classroom for Defense Against the Dark Arts. 

Why here, of all places? If this was death, why remind him of such a seemingly unimportant place, in contrast to everywhere else he had visited in his vast 150-year timeline. Why here?

The now younger man shuffled over to his bookcase, or what was a mere replica of it, and that was, as he expected, stark-white and not a spec of dust on it. Now, if this were an accurate model of his classroom, the bookshelf would be filled with dust bunnies and stringy cobwebs, with the occasional dead insect curled up on the mahogany. Now it was just white, with white books that all looked the same. 

Interested, Dumbledore slid a hard-covered copy off the slick wood, flicking open the cover and blowing through the pages. He was met with nothing, not a single drop of ink in it. He didn’t bother to check the rest, seeing as they were all the same on the outside. 

“Fascinating, isn’t it?”

Albus stopped, cocking his head slightly in the direction of the voice. It was feminine, and as smooth as it was soft. It had a high-class British accent to it, so he knew that whoever she was, belonged to a rich muggle family or a proud pure blood lineage. Yet, a nagging part of his mind, the part that barely clung to memories not yet discarded into wispy silver strings, told him that he knew this voice. 

Finally turning fully, his eyes climbed up the small figure of a petite woman, clad in a beautiful purple silk wrap dress, until he reached her face. 

Signature mole.

Mocha skin.

Bottomless brown eyes. 

“Leta Lestrange.”

She smiled at him, and for the first time he saw it truly reach her eyes. She looked not a day over twenty, and she appeared just as she had when he last saw her, presumably how she was when she died. 

“Professor. I see your fashion sense has evolved a bit, hasn’t it? Or do you just enjoy walking around in a nightgown at all hours?”

A playful smirk morphed onto her face, and Dumbledore couldn’t help but chuckle. This was so odd; the Leta that he knew would never joke around with anyone except Newt occasionally, and her protectiveness of herself rarely allowed her to stare so boldly at the man in front of her. She had changed, no doubt. 

“Death does that to you” she replied, as if she could read his thoughts. She couldn’t, but his expression practically screamed confusion. “It changes you, mostly for the better. We all end up in the same place, so the sinners and heretics like myself learn to deal with our problems, and ultimately heal to become better.”

Albus nodded his head, still not saying anything. Everything about this was just so...foreign and weird. As a man who was always two steps ahead of the entire world, experiencing something new was not necessarily comfortable. 

Leta tilted her head, studying him with chocolate orbs. “You were hoping for someone else, hm? Gellert, perhaps? He’s here too, you’ll see him soon.”

Albus’ heart seemingly leapt up from his ribcage at the mention of his name. He was here? Albus was very careful of Grindelwald, making sure he had good care, well, as good as it got in the most high-security prison on the planet. Always made sure to check in on Gellerts health regularly, fearing that one day he would visit his cell to find the rotting corpse of his former lover, the only person he held romantic feelings for. At least that would never happen, he told himself.

“But...I thought he was still alive?”

Leta walked over to the doorknob, althogh with her floor-length dress, it seemed as if she floated. “He arrived a few minutes ago, still wafting around in the void. Time is a curious concept around here. You know he died protecting your grave from Voldemort? He was tortured for the longest time, but he refused to give up the information. Maybe he did love you after all?”

Before Albus could respond with so much as a facial expression, she swung the heavy door open, strands of her hair blowing out of her neat bun. 

“Walk with me” she said, although it came out as almost a question, a slight plead for company. Albus smiles and followed behind her and watched as the room disintegrated into the same inky-black void he was in not too long ago. 

“So, why you?” 

Leta looked up at the taller figure as she matched her pace with his. “Why do you think?”

“I haven’t the slightest clue” Albus muttered, completely lost. Leta was a person in his life special enough to be remembered, but certainly not one of the most important. She had been one of his favorite students, as adamantly as she had tried to deny it, and yet he connected with her on a level of familiarity. They had both suffered the same experiences, and he knew her pain.

Albus hasn’t realized they had stopped until he heard the creaking of old hinges. He saw Leta sitting at a wooden desk, all white of course, with the top lifted up. There was a small shimmer, a distortion of the image before him, and the letters “N + L” appeared carved into the surface.

“Do you remember the conversation we had here? It was the last time I saw you, and yet it was the first time in years as well” she stated, never peeling her eyes off of the carving. 

“I do remember parts, yes” he replied, feeling some guilt for not being able to recall everything. It seemed like such an important memory, not only to himself apparently, but to Leta as well.

“You said something to me: to not let guilt consume me, to talk about it so that I could heal and move on.” She looked back and him, thought not entirely. She simply wanted to gauge his reaction, though she didn’t really expect any. 

“Why do you think I’m here?”

Again, Dumbledore found himself stumped with such an intricate question, woven together with a few simple words. He shook his head, almost like a small child ashamed of not knowing the answer to a simple maths problem. 

“I am a reflection of you, Professor” Leta stated, once again staring into the depths of his eyes. 

“I am what you could’ve become, had you let your self-hatred take over in your life. I know how you felt after Ariana’s death: guilty. You should’ve gone instead of her, you should’ve never gotten in the stupid fight anyways, you shoulsve done anything, anything to avoid that day on the beach. You lived with the burden of grief and guilt all mixed together in the pit of your stomach, and it sickened you every passing day. I know.”

“Except, you chose the path I did not. You chose to release it all, learn to love yourself again and come to terms with what happened. Perhaps it’s because you had more years to contemplate it, but you eventually reached a place of peace for yourself, didn’t you?”

“My fate could’ve been your fate; I lived every moment with emotional stress upon my shoulders like Atlas, bearing the weight of the world on his aching back. I was so afraid of the person people would see me as, the monster I wouldn’t recognize when I looked in the mirror, that I lost all control over the darkness in myself. Deep depression was like a deathless death to me, and as much love as I received from others, it wasn’t enough to outweigh the hatred I brewed for myself in my thoughts.”

“And look at what it did to me. I crumbled into black ashes right in front of the love of my life, how ironic when all he saw most days was my poker face.”

Dumbledore was at a loss for words as he stared at the smaller girl, whose warm cheeks were not dripping in waterfalls of tears, cascading down her skin and hanging under her chin. 

“You chose the right path, and it made all the difference. The mysterious forces in the afterlife, whomever they may be, wanted you to know that. You did well.”

Another door swung open just opposite of them, and it revealed a sunny vale just on the other side of its wooden frame. Albus turned to look at Leta, as if to question her about what it was and if it was safe. She just gave him a watery smile and nodded her head towards it. Folding her arms on her lap. 

“Where-where will you go now?”

Dumbledore was genuinely concerned for her. He surely didn’t want her to spend her days in this place, a place that had gotten so bland and boring in the span of a few minutes without the reality and vibrancy of life. 

“Don’t worry about me. I still have my loved ones to see once you go. I’ll be fine” she said softly, like a caring mother ushering her child away 

Albus smiled to her, his skin crinkling in the corner of his eyes. She really deserved to be happy. After all she had to endure, and to have a heart as gold as hers, it was amazing. If only her soul hadn’t been so prematurely ripped from her body, maybe she too could’ve found that same path. 

The wise man stopped at the door, one foot cushioned in the tickling grass and soft mud, the other still planted on the hard floor. 

“You were one of my favorites. I never told you, but now seems as good as a time as any.”

Leta chuckled and flashed her pearly teeth at him in a grin. She stayed silent, but he felt the adoration resonating off of her. Taking a deep breath of the dewy, fresh air of the vale before him, he gave her one last playful wink, a wink that reassured her of his well-being, a wink that in a way showed that he cared for her, and went into the hills, the door creaking to a close behind him and then vanishing just as it came. 

And finally, Leta Lestrange sighed, a lazy smile on her lips, as her admittedly favorite teacher and a rare recipient of her admiration passed on peacefully. He knew that when the right person came along, he would be right in her place, doing the same thing she did. 

“Darling, could you perhaps taste this stew for me? I believe it needs a bit more salt.”

Leta turned her head slightly, a warm grin coming upon her face as she heard the sound of a certain young red-haired man. 

“Theseus, honey, you can’t possibly mess it up. It’s the afterlife after all, everything it perfect” she stated, almost chastising him. He laughed through the real doorway leading to their kitchen, which served only for Theseus to continue his cooking hobby. 

“Yes, well, it wouldn’t hurt to try a bit. It’s my nan’s recipe and I’ve been making it for so long. If it wasn’t perfect then it’s certainly not going to be any better now” he said, putting on a fake pouty face. 

Leta stepped through the doorway and kissed him, admiring his features that looked the same as the day he lost her. “Alright, I guess I can have a taste.”

The taller man grinned as he fed her a spoonful, and recoiled as she sneakily dabbed a little sauce on his pointed nose. 

“You know you’re right, the afterlife is really perfect” Theseu sighed, lazily wrapping his arms around her waist as she rested against his striped apron. “I can’t imagine a better paradise than being here with you, like this.”

Leta smiled against his chest, breathing in his sharp scent. “I could probably live with this for a couple millennia.”

Her body vibrated as Theseus chuckled, his laughter contagious. 

“Forever is finally ours, my love. And you deserve every good thing in this Universe, even if you don’t feel like you do.”

Maybe the road she took wasn’t so bad after all.


	4. One Woman to Another

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Leta and Seraphina find out they have more in common than they thought, after all, they’re both people whom the world criticizes too easily.

Strangely enough, Leta can remember vividly the first time she met, or rather saw, Seraphina Picquery.

It was in her much younger years, the troubled ones at Hogwarts. She had been a wide-eyed child who was just transitioning into maturity, although she was still very much the mischief-maker. Ilvermorny, a mysterious and new school, though it had been well-established for centuries and upheld a great reputation, had been invited to participate in that year’s Triwizard Tournament (Drumstrang was under some very questionable leadership at the time, and was therefore barred from the competition). It was the first time that a non-European school had competed, and it would likely be the last. The ministers of education were strict on tradition, and only unavoidable circumstances shifted their decisions. Nevertheless, Ilvermorny received a kind welcome at Hogwarts, where the Triwizard was being held. 

Leta, the unsocial Slytherin who always sat closest to the professors for the purpose of keeping an eye on her, probably had the worst seat in the entire dining hall.

Still, she very clearly saw Seraphina Picquery.

Ilvermorny had been presented last, after Beauxbaton’s graceful and all-too delicate (at least in Leta’s opinion, though many of the boys st her table wildly disagreed) showcase. The American school wasted not a single moment in boasting their talents. She couldn’t remember much, just a lot of lights and the feeling of wonder and admiration. 

But the one moment that stuck with her was the final, where the Ilvermorny students lined up uniformly in front of the headmaster’s podium, in their cranberry and blue uniforms. The room he gone relatively silent, besides some odd side-conversations and such. The students, stacked in neat rows, were approached by the headmaster and headmistress (it was Ilvermorny tradition to have one of each, following the tradition of the school’s founders). They were not who caught everyone’s attention.

A platinum-blonde regality stood as a centerpiece between the school’s two leaders. Her shoulders were squared back, her head held high, and her hands clasped behind her back. Her uniform was the same as all the others, but she made it look elevated just with her figure. 

Leta wasn’t stupid, nor was she ignorant. She knew who Seraphina was. Therefore, she completely understood why Ilvermorny was flaunting a student like her, a person like her, in front of everyone. 

News of her acceptance by all four of Ilvermorny’s prized houses spread like wildfire, but especially among the political and the elite. Even a blind man could tell that this woman, though just barely coming into adulthood herself, was someone to watch. Someone with an accomplishment like that was bound to achieve greatness one day, and the upper class scrambled to be at her side when that happened, simply for the hope of influence and power. Leta’s father included.

Even though Seraphina wasn’t the chosen competitor for the tournament, as she had opted to abstain from what she saw was a useless and childish endeavor, she outshone even the Ilvermorny competitor. 

It wasn’t even her accomplishment that warranted this. She had a natural aura of authority, one that told others not to cross her the wrong way, or they’d regret it. Her presence was not only apparent in the room, but it commanded attention. 

When she spoke, it was blunt and to-the-point. She was definitely outspoken, though she had enough sense to not intervene in matters that weren’t hers to intervene in. She had an aura of authority, one that said ‘do what you’re asked and avoid stupid questions.’ 

Her outwards appearance added to her persona. She always had her light curls tucked into a neatly folded headdress, with one bang peeked out from underneath the fabric, the end of it curling to rest on the top of her cheekbone. Her red tie was always straightened and perfectly done, the Gordon’s Knot symbol that held her pressed robe was always shiny and finely adjusted. Her dress shirt and black dress pants were always wrinkle-free and spotless. Her nails were perfectly manicured and buffed. Her skin was like polished porcelain, her features so regal that she barely needed a touch of makeup. Now that the prized witch was in her last year, she had everyone on the edge of their seats, waiting for what was next. 

To say the least, Seraphina was intimidating. So Leta really didn’t know how to act when she first ran into her. 

She didn’t remember exactly when it was, just that it was during her lunch break, when she should have been in the expansive and elaborate Hogwarts dining hall, chatting it up with her housemates. Leta, ever the isolationist, never did that. Instead, she grabbed two plates and loaded then up before everyone arrived, then rushed them over to her secret hiding spot. Well, her and Newt’s, since Newt has been the first to discover it, although he let her share possessive rights.

But Leta was definitely surprised when she saw a jet-black haired boy, who looked to be a few years her senior, wearing the robes of Ilvermorny. Leta gave him a look of confusion, an involuntary response since practically no one knew about her little hiding spot, besides Newt of course. He had just stared at her for a few seconds, between the part of his long haircut, in an analytical, critical way, and then walked right past her. She couldn’t help notice that his left fist was clenched. 

Leta bounded up the rest of the stone-carved steps, expecting none other than her red-headed best friend, perhaps playing with another one of his creatures again. 

“Newt, I-”

The curly-haired girl barely caught the plates as they wobbled in her hands, as she almost dropped them from surprise. Seraphina was standing before her, in the little ledge behind the stained-glass window. Her posture was straight, her hands clasped together at her front. Leta couldn't make out her expression, only the stiffness and tension of her body. The older girl finally turned around, meeting the gaze of the younger Slytherin. "Apologies. I didn't realize this was taken" she said, gesturing to the small space around her with a barely-visible smile as a friendly formality. 

Leta returned the gesture, setting the silverware down on a dusty wooden desk that had a pesky wobble in it that no one could seem to fix. "No, it's alright." She frowned at how shy and quiet her voice suddenly became, a great contrast to the authoritativeness and confidence that came out when hexed Violet Hattesfield to break out in terrible hives that morning (it was a miracle that she was still in the school, she noted to herself on a tangent). She quickly tried to cover it up by turning swiftly around, pivoting on her heels, and matching Seraphina's unwavering eye-contact. 

"Shouldn't you be at the dining hall?"

"Probably. Shouldn't you?"

The taller of the two chuckled, the corners of her eyes crinkling slightly, and her pearly-whites were put on display. Leta wasn't really expecting Seraphina's laugh to sound like that; to be quite honest, she wasn't really expecting Seraphina to laugh. At all. But it was light and infectious, and Leta struggled to suppress her own grin. "Touché." She then slightly gestured one hand over to the second plate. "Were you expecting someone?"

Leta glanced back down the stairwell and then peeked her head out so that she could see what was beyond the window on Hogwarts' campus. No sign of Newt, not even by his favorite spot, underneath the Whomping Willow, which had seemed to have taken a liking to the freckled boy, for some odd reason. Then again, Newt specialized in odd creatures, so the particularly violent tree was right up his alley. But Leta couldn't see him at all, so she shook her head. "He's not coming." Leta didn't mean to express her feeling of disappointment to vividly on her features and demeanor, but it was an uncontrollable response. It was widely-known that Newt and Leta were practically the untouchables among the students at Hogwarts. One didn't associate with them unless they wanted to be thrown out of the inner circle. That left Newt and Leta with only each other for company, but they would rather that than the hypocrites who looked down at them. "If you don't mind me asking...what exactly are you doing up here?"

Seraphina's thin-lipped smile wavered a bit, her eyes hardening. Her jaw clenched and unclenched in a pattern, but she didn't break. "I just...needed a quiet place. To think."

Leta nodded and didn't press. She wasn't stupid, far from it actually. She saw how the brims of her eyelids were slightly red, how there were still glistening trails on her cheeks, if the light hit correctly. She heard how her voice had a certain rasp, a certain edge of hoarseness to it. The younger girl guessed that had something to do with the dark-haired boy who she brushed by on her way in. 

The food in her plates were getting cold, and she was practically starving. She had skipped breakfast because some girls in her dorm had thought it hilarious to hide her wand and replace it with a carrot wand from Gambol and Japes'. It took her a whole of an hour to find it shoved in a dark corner between an armchair and the stone wall, covered in dust and dirt. Leta looked at Seraphina, who was still gazing out of the stained glass window, and bit her cheek. "Would you...um, would you like some? I don't think my friend is coming today" she offered, gesturing to the plate. 

The taller witch looked at her for a good couple of seconds. It was with one of those analytical stares, and Leta didn't really know what she was expecting to find. Honestly, she didn't even know why she offered. It wasn't like they had much in common, or that Leta was much of a social person. No, not that. Maybe she just didn't feel like eating her lunch alone. 

Seraphina finally nodded her head and shot her a smile. Leta returned the gesture and sat cross-legged on an old bed sheet that Newt and her often used as a sort of picnic blanket (Newt had reserved the other tables and chairs as space for his specimen). Seraphina followed her, though hesitantly. She seemed like the kind of person to uphold appearances, and sitting on a ruined piece of cloth wasn't ideal. She got over herself, though, after a few moments. She threw back the ends of her long robe, crossing her left leg over her right one. Leta's slightly hunched posture made her seem even shorter compared to her Ilvermorny counterpart, whose spine was as straight as a ruler. 

Seraphina picked at her food. She lifted a section of sausage baked into a bread pudding of sorts. Her eyebrows knit together in confusion. "What is this?"

"Toad-in-the-hole."

Seraphina snorted and laughed. Leta frowned, which made the other girl even more confused. "Seriously?"

"Uh, yes. Do you not have those? In America?"

"No, we don't" she replied, as if it were an obvious thing. "But I suppose American cooking has some oddly-named things as well." Leta was intrigued, she kind of assumed that sausage in pudding was a universal concept. Apparently not. "it's not half-bad" Seraphina replied with her mouth half-full of it, as she looked up towards the Hogwarts second-year. Leta raised her eyebrows, and both girls burst out into a fit of laughs, with Seraphina trying to hold in her food with sore cheeks. 

They settled into comfortable conversation. Leta told her that she was a second year in Slytherin, and explained how the sorting process worked. She, in turn, learned that the system was similar in Ilvermorny, and that Seraphina had gone with Horned Serpent for her house. "Why that one?"

"Hmm?"

"Why Horned Serpent?"

Seraphina had been that question so many times. She lied each time too, saying that she felt like that house really fit her best. That wasn't it. Seraphina had been promised many things by each house and its representatives, but the Horned Serpent promised something that she needed: power. The dragon-like creature had whispered into her mind images of her future as a member of its house, filled with scenes of her at the head of the table, at the top rung of the ladder. So she had grinned and announced her decision with excitement. 

"Well...I saw a better future for myself with that house" she answered truthfully. "Why Slytherin?"

Leta hadn't expected to have the question thrown back at her. When she came into the halls of Hogwarts, she had expected there to be no hesitation; Slytherin was the house of every single one of her ancestors (the Lestrange family had considerable lineage connected to Salazar Slytherin, after all). But when the wrinkled hat had curiously shouted out that Gryffindor would fit her well, Leta was proven wrong. She considered it for a moment, for a second; maybe being a Gryffindor wouldn't be so bad. She snapped herself out of it, though, since her father wouldn't stand for a Gryffindor in the family (as if she hadn't disappointed him enough). If she was ever going to at least stay on the favorable side of her father, though she was barely on the edge, she wouldn't ruin family tradition. "The same reason as you, I guess."

Seraphina chuckled to herself, knowing very well that her reasoning wasn't the same. Not by far.

"My question?"

The American nodded her head, nodded her head. "Go ahead."

"Who was that guy with you? And why were you two arguing?"

Seraphina almost choked on her mashed potatoes. She was hoping that the younger girl wouldn't be too observant, but the tell-tale signes were there, you'd have to be blind, stupid, or both to not notice. She cursed herself for making everything so obvious. "You only get one question per turn" she tries to joke lightly, but Leta's surprisingly hard stare made her snap her mouth shut. 

"We disagreed on something" she replied briefly. 

"What is something?"

"Is this an interrogation now?"

"Answer the question."

Seraphina sighed. She could lie, she was pretty good at that. But she was tired of it, covering up her problems to make them seem like petty inconveniences. And something told her that Leta would understand, out of everyone. "He was mad at me for not defending myself." Leta's head tilted to the side questioningly. "There are some people in my school who...don't particularly like me. They don't believe that my getting chosen by all houses was right, that I didn't deserve something like that. That I didn't fit the requirements. That it should have gone to someone...much different from me." A look of understanding dawned on the curly-haired witch's face, which was replaced by a scowl. "They don't have the guts to say it to my face, so they say it behind my back, as if I can't hear them. They play pranks and things. It's just childish stuff, but Percy always was a bit emotional" she chuckled. 

Maybe that was why she was always the perfectionist. It was her way of trying to live up to their expectations, to their standards of what she should be. If she slipped up even once, if one thing about her appearance was out of place, they could use it, and she wouldn't let them taunt her like that. They had power over her in that way, they controlled who she turned out to be. Maybe that was why the promises of the Horned Serpent were so tempting that day, all those years ago; she was tired of pretending, of worrying and spending so much time on trivial things just to prove herself to people whose opinions shouldn't even matter to her. She wanted to control things for herself for once. 

"Yeah, well, he has a point" Leta spluttered out, thanking god that she couldn't turn red, or she'd have looked like a tomato then. 

"Leta, not every problem can be solved by confrontation. Sometimes you just have to ignore the bad people" Seraphina reasoned. 

"Not if they're that bad" she exclaimed. Leta realized how hypocritical she was being; how could she tell someone else to fight their bullies when she couldn't do the same with hers? Hers were more out-there about their hatred of her, but her and Seraphina had practically the same problem. Still, Leta didn't really care if she was mocked or not; Seraphina was a better person than her, at least she thought. Seraphina shouldn't have to deal with bullies. 

Leta didn't fully understand why she was made fun of so much. She was nice person, quiet at times and definitely not someone who stood for nonsense. But ever since the 'incident' when she was younger, the guilt had been slowly but heavily crushing her; that kind of weight on one's conscience ends to drive one to be a different person. Add to that her father's verbal abuse, and she was a recipe for disaster. As a first year, she really did try to make friends; but everyone and their mothers had heard about the Lestranges, how the father had been made a widower twice, and had lost a prized son as well. Her name reeked of danger, which warded people away. They didn't even bother to see her as someone different. They saw her as a monster, just as she saw herself. 

"My turn" Seraphina declared, turning the subject around. "Why are you here?"

"What?"

"Why aren't you at the dining hall with everyone else?"

Well, she had her there. Leta pursed her lips, a look of defeat on her face. "There are people there I'm not necessarily friends with."

"Bullies, you mean" Seraphina filled in for her. Leta had avoided using that word specifically, but essentially yes. That was why. After the whole wand incident that morning, and everything that had preceded it, she didn't feel like being around them at that moment. In fact, she never like being around them, but she could handle them on her own. The main reason why she hung out up in that hidden room was for Newt. She could defend herself fairly well, and she had pretty thick skin; Newt on the other hand, poor thing, was the least confrontational person in history. When people say "oh, he wouldn't hurt a fly," well, Newt actually wouldn't. She had stuck up for him on multiple occasions, probably more times than she could count on her fingers and toes, but she reasoned with herself that it was best that they avoid it when they could. Plus, Leta was about one "Ocausi" away from being expelled. 

"A bit hypocritical, don't you think?"

Leta almost rolled her eyes at the smirk decorating Seraphina's lips. "Yeah, well..." she muttered, crossing her arms over her chest defensively. 

"Okay, okay, I'm sorry" Seraphina said, holding her hands up in a sign of surrender. "How about...we make a deal?"

Leta looked up from the ground. Seraphina couldn't help but be reminded of herself when she was a few years younger, before she grew the thick skin she had. Leta's brown eyes were like a child's (Seraphina reminded herself that Leta was really still a child), and while her own 20th birthday was just around the corner, the younger twelve-year-old still had a long way to go. School years were always the hardest, especially when everyone is still immature and just learning how words hurt. She'd be okay though, Seraphina told herself. Leta was a girl of strong character. 

"What deal?"

"I promise to follow your advice if you do the same" she proposed. Seraphina held out a hand, her slender fingers pointed towards Leta. The smaller Slytherin looked from her hand to Seraphina's eyes. The Ilvermorny student gave her a small smile, and Leta grabbed her hand with a firm grip, shaking it once but with definition. 

The booming sound of the school-wide bell pierced the silent atmosphere, and Leta's eyes widened. She had Transfiguration, and the new professor, McGonagall, was a stickler for being on time every time, no matter the excuse. And Leta still had to get her books from the dorms, which were on the other side of the Hogwarts campus. 

Seraphina could see the slight panic in her eyes, and gestured for her to go. As a visiting student, she didn't have classes. Plus, Percy wouldn't mind if she was late to their meeting. "Go, I can clean up here."

"Thank you" Leta replied sincerely, and she meant it to be more than a thanks for taking the plates back to the dining hall. 

Seraphina nodded and Leta grinned before dashing back down the stairs. And that was the last time Leta saw her for many, many years. 

##### 

"Did you hear?"

"Hear what?"

Newt struggled to keep up and catch his breath walking beside her, as he had practically sprinted everywhere to find her after his potions class. "Midge Cromwell was hexed. And it wasn't by you" the red-headed boy exclaimed rather excitedly. Leta's eyebrows knit together, and she looked at him, asking him silently to tell her what else he knew. "I heard Dumbledore talking to McGonagall about it, apparently she was turned into a pig" he whispered as if it were the scandal of the century. "Even Mcgonagall is having a hard time reversing it, they're saying it may take hours or even days."

Leta's mouth dropped open and she laughed unbelievably. "Even Mcgonagall?"

Newt nodded so fast that Leta thought he was going to hurt his neck. "And the girls with Midge said that they didn't even hear anyone say the spell! That means whoever did it can do non-verbal magic!" Leta hadn't seen Newt this excited since the Care of Magical Creatures teacher had taken them on a trip to see an Occamy Reserve in India. 

But that was definitely interesting, if not exciting. That kind of magic was difficult, every witch and wizard knew. And to cast a spell that confuses even a Transfiguration teacher? The person had to be either a teacher or a really talented final-year student. All that really mattered to Leta was that she had someone on her side, someone looking after her. And when she saw the same platinum blonde wink at her as she walked past in the crowded hallway, the boy she called Percy striding next to her, Leta knew immediately who it was. 

And she couldn't help but feel a little less alone in the world.


End file.
